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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501982">The Harvestmen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHomeSkillet/pseuds/PinkHomeSkillet'>PinkHomeSkillet</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Flight Rising</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Also injury mention, Other, but let them worry about that, some very mild horror, until you think too hard on how Dullah get to be Dullah</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,822</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24501982</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkHomeSkillet/pseuds/PinkHomeSkillet</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>An into into Drifter, Elspeth, and The Harvestmen in general. </p><p>It's cool they're cool</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Harvestmen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was many years ago that Drifter was standing in a corn field just outside a small cave, waiting with the sort of curiosity and willingness to be let down that most researchers experience.</p><p>His son Salem was nearby, leaning against the wall of the cave and picking his teeth with the sort of faux relaxation of a guard. One who knows that most likely things won’t happen, but just in case they did, just in case they <i>did</i>…</p><p>Drifter never did understand why he couldn’t relax. Ever. </p><p>“Most likely won’t happen,” one of his guides- the female one, what was her name?- Mildred? Said in the shaky way of someone wanting to impress but knowing things likely won’t come together for that to occur. Drifter was acutely aware that he was near a sacred space. The moon was high and the color of wheat, the corn behind him was swaying, and the two guides who had been nothing but hospitable had taken on the nervous air of wanting him to see something while also not wanting him to touch anything.</p><p>Drifter was a man who had seen many, many things, and so he quickly hashed the situation out- The Harvestman absolutely believed this was an honored area, they absolutely believed in their Harvest King, and they were above all decent people. Indecent people did not let you near a sacred area without a lot of fuss, mostly of the attempted murder kind- either before or after. They did not fret about the appearances and whims of their gods like a treasured pet (oh sorry he’s just not in the mood today). They paid blood and asked for little back. That there was a rock nearby burning with two pumpkin scented candles flanked by tiny painted wood offerings, that Mildred was wringing her hands like a worried parent only solidified his thoughts.</p><p>Drifter would have simply written a note in his journals- and a few were strewn across the ground, bound in leather with a thick yellowed parchment, the writing inside that told you the owner was both artistic and owned a scrawling ink pen that left trails and bled- but something more interested him. There were two guides, the male of which whose name escaped him was about regular size, face covered with a burlap mask and a wide hat to protect from the sun. He was looking towards the cave with hope apparent.</p><p>Mildred was one of the few pumpkin-headed, face covered by what you hoped was a mask meant to resemble a carved pumpkin left out on the step. She was scrawny, not in the way of those naturally skinny but in the way of those dead whose fat and moisture had long ago left and now all that remained was desiccated meat and bone. She looked like someone had put black clothing on a mummy. Whatever the Harvest King asked for of his most devoted, it apparently involved their death and resurrection into undeath, and whatever could do that, whatever could ask for that and have the person afterward still be devoted but kind and friendly, that interested him.</p><p>The pumpkin headed (some called them the Dullah) were kind, the nicest of an overly friendly bunch. Apparently their looks tended to scare away visitors to their town and as a result they decided the best way to counteract that was to be <i>even more welcoming</i>. Drifter himself had been met by a man in a burlap mask immediately upon entering, stating that he “Hadn’t seen him around these parts, might you be up for a rest and some tea?”, an obvious smile in the voice. The Harvestmen did not realize this might put even more people on edge, especially as they all carried farming implements, leaning against well cared for scythes to chat. It told anyone who had faced any danger that these people were probably going to murder them in thier sleep for some weird farming ritual.</p><p>But they never did. They were just well….kinda like that.</p><p>Before even entering town Drifter had talked to the local mine, a place The Harvestmen had dealings with. They never entered the mine, the foreman had said. Some kinda weird superstition about going too deep, an interesting proposition considering that this religion (and Drifter considered it such) revolved around using mining gasses for defense and healing. It had its roots deep underground at the start. Now it seemed they focused on the surface level, and in return for trade kept the miners well supplied with food and goods. “Never had a gourd ‘till you get one from them,” the foreman said, looking out into the middle distance in the way of one who had seen something. “Of course you feel a bit weird about it, considering the heads of some of ‘em. Still, never had a day where I went hungry, never had an accident where they didn’t show up to help.”</p><p>Drifter had asked Mildred if any of them ever left the town, and her odd triangle teeth had turned into a smile. “Oh we’ve had some leave, some getting the word out and about.”</p><p>“Do they ever run into trouble?”</p><p>“Of course! World’s a dangerous place,” Mildred had said, and whatever odd light lit her face seemed to dim slightly. “Lost a few. Misunderstandings, I’m sure, but he always brings them back in the end.”</p><p>Drifter had asked what she meant, and she gestured to the carved pumpkins lighting the stoops of the small wooden farm houses lining the main street. “One way or the other,” she’d said. “We remember ‘em, and The King never forgets their faces.”</p><p>That, staring at the rows of lit facsimile of faces as people milled around during nighttime, was the first thing to actually unsettle Drifter.</p><p>The Harvest King came for his dead. He wondered what happened to the living who had caused that when he did.</p><p>---</p><p>Drifter wanted to point out as they stood there that the small cave they were near was an abandoned mine, and that he’d tested and found that it was leaking gas which likely caused hallucinations. He wanted to mutter and write the whole thing off as, overall, a weird but harmless cult. He wouldn’t say anything directly to their faces unless it was potentially dangerous, but he would write a scathing paragraph in his journal and say so to Salem later.</p><p>That was about when a wind picked up and started stirring the corn rows, the man in the burlap sack face mask getting nervous and clinging to his pitchfork as Mildred brightened. “Oh!” she said, clutching both her hands to her chest in adoration.</p><p>Drifter could feel it, though he couldn’t see it- the barometer of the place had changed and though he couldn’t sense it quite like his father could, Salem lifted his head and looked around warily.</p><p>There was something in the corn, walking between the stalks and darkening the stars for just a moment before moving on. Everything was silent except for the corn rattling, Mildred whispering something under her breath with both hands still clenched as though in prayer.</p><p>Drifter saw eyes- glowing eyes- for just a moment. Nothing else. The wind slowed and left.</p><p>“About what I thought,” Mildred said, obviously disappointed though not surprised. “He knows the hearts of people. Y’all just ain’t his type.”</p><p>---</p><p>Drifter did not think upon this again until many, many years later.</p><p>---</p><p>“You sure this is okay?” Elspeth asked, holding a small moldering but organized box of glass tubes, about to slide them into a shelf, but her paranoia made her turn to her helper, Alice.</p><p>“Of course!” Alice smiled, showing some of the longer tusks of a tundra, and El couldn’t help but notice some of her wide scars hidden by a scarf. “Why wouldn’t it be?”</p><p>“Well, y’know,” Elspeth paused to put the box on a counter and pointed at her face, obviously nothing more than a carved pumpkin.</p><p>It was perhaps a testament to Can Towners that Alice looked confused for a moment before the potential problem dawned on her. “Oh! Well. Some people got three heads, some people got none. Some people got pumpkin or metal heads,” Alice shrugged as she tucked a box under a counter. “Takes all kinds.”</p><p>“Suppose it does,” Elspeth said more quietly, uncertain if she felt more sure of herself after that. She felt Alice’s shoulder nudging into her.</p><p>“You know sign language?” Alice said, and Elspeth was suddenly aware of how close the other woman was to her, how bright her pink eyes and smile were. She was glad she could no longer blush.</p><p>“Uh, been a while since I’ve had cause to use it,” Elspeth said. “Not versed on the Lightning version.”</p><p>“Weyland'll help you brush up,” Alice said brightly as the door opened and a man El did not recognise came in the door carrying in a box. He waved to the two women. “Hey Darius!” Alice called. He waved and did a quick sign, which Elspeth barely caught the ‘hello’ back of. He ducked back out, presumably to help gather more boxes for the shop. “Your new neighbor, there.” Alice said with a jerk of her head. “Sweet man.” Another head jerk indicated the window, where two others rested against the wall just outside. Elspeth somewhat recognised the man with the black head, but the taller one in the red-black suit she didn’t. “Caretakers of Darius. I’m sure they’ll warm up soon enough.”</p><p>Elspeth paused as she lifted another box, her gaze not wanting to go back to the two men outside, but caution forbade her from doing anything else. It was the one with the black head that really worried her, those red headlight eyes staring back without a hint of anxiety, as though daring her to keep looking.</p><p>“Just March,” Alice said, bumping a shoulder against her again in camaraderie. “Lost his head unwillingly, so I’ve heard, so maybe something to talk about there once you’re comfortable with signing.”</p><p>“...and Darius?” Elspeth said, willing herself to turn around against the gaze and place her instruments in her new shop. “Born deaf?”</p><p>“Oh,” Alice said, looking quickly down for a moment. “No.” She looked back up and stuck out her tongue before mimicking chopping it with two fingers.</p><p>“Geez.”</p><p>Alice shrugged. “We’re a bunch of tired weirds looking out for each other,” she said as she went to the door. She paused to turn and winked. “Seems we snagged another.”</p><p>“Ha,” Elspeth said, not so much a laugh as an exhalation of breath, then cursed herself privately for the awkwardness of it once Alice was out the door. She looked to a small painted wooden decoration of an aardvark on a dusty shelf- a parting gift from home, crude but vivid- and reached out to poke it with a bony finger. Yeah, this might work out all right.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There was a time not long after this that Victoria and Els will swear The Harvest King appeared in the fields outside the 3 Cities.</p><p>Most people believe this because Victoria said "I was so goddamn scared I grabbed Charon's neck and stayed there while Els said 'Hi dad!!' and waved."</p></blockquote></div></div>
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